


Kiss My Ass

by TheMouthKing



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Fingering, First Time, I have reached my ultimate form, I promise, Link shows Rhett his mouth skills, M/M, Rimming, Wife Mention, ass eating, but it's fine, butt stuff, y'all horny mfers got your wish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21667804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMouthKing/pseuds/TheMouthKing
Summary: After Rhett's tongue done gives out filmingthis GMMore, Link makes an offer (to show Rhett his mouth skills) that Rhett can't refuse.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 54
Kudos: 124
Collections: Rhett and Link's Firsts





	Kiss My Ass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imincognitohere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imincognitohere/gifts).

> A cry went up on tumblr for some ass eating, and I answered the call. I'm sorry and you're welcome. 
> 
> Unbetaed, we die like men: full of mistakes and entirely unprepared. 
> 
> Happy birthday to imincognitohere. My gift to you: butt stuff.

Link knows all the best ways to get Rhett riled up. That shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, given how long they’ve been friends. 

What _is_ surprising is how quick he can get under Rhett’s skin with barely any effort at all. Just a few choice words. 

“Man, I feel sorry for Jess.”

Course, he’d picked some real incendiary words. 

“Whaddaya mean you feel sorry for Jess?” Rhett’s annoyed, too, that he’d called her _Jess._ Rhett called her Jess, to Link she was _Jessie_. Jess was just between the two of them. Jess was between the sheets, too intimate for office talk. 

“Whaddaya mean whadda I mean?” Link echoes back, needling. He doesn’t elaborate, just lets his irritating comment lie long enough that Rhett’s fully on the defensive by the time he finishes. “I feel sorry for her, having to live with your sorry excuse for a tongue.”

Now he’s got Rhett’s full fucking attention. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean. You give up on her that easy, brother? Tell her your tongue _‘done give out’_ and just quit?”

Rhett couldn’t look more shocked if Link had slapped him across the mouth. When he recovers, it’s with a heavy scowl at the insinuation he’s somehow lacking in the bedroom department. 

“Shut your freaking mouth.”

“Because I’m _right.”_

“Like hell you are. I ain’t never got a complaint from Jessie,” he rubs in calling her _Jessie_ in this context because she’s not Link’s Jess.

Link doesn’t honor that with a response, doesn’t do more than give a condescending little hum and a nod, like he’s humoring Rhett. Like he’s willing to let it go since Rhett won’t see reason. 

Which just infuriates him all the more. 

“How ‘bout you kiss my ass.” 

Rhett says it dismissively, like one last barb tossed Link’s way, a _fuck you_ because he knows he’s not winning. Because doubt is creeping in around the edges, because he’s thinking back to a night not too many nights ago when they’d ended up giving up by some combination of his tongue getting tired and it never quite getting her close enough to bother carrying on trying. He knows he ought to put more effort in, try a new position, get another one of those foam pillows, just commit and get ready for a sore jaw in the morning… but that night he hadn’t, and it’s bringing his self-esteem down a few pegs. 

“You want me to show you how it’s done?”

The tone of the whole exchange changes with those few words. 

Link’s sitting there, sprawled out easy on the sofa in the aftermath of what he’d said. Arms outstretched, resting on the back of the sofa, one leg loosely crossed over the other, ankle resting on his knee. Open and inviting. 

Rhett doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The incredulous look on his face says everything on his mind and more. 

“You heard me. You want me to show you how it’s done?”

What is he saying, what’s he suggesting? Rhett stares at him, brows furrowed in deep irritation as he takes in that cocky, open body language, self-assured and smug as fuck. There’s no way on earth Rhett’s going to move a muscle like he’s interested unless Link lays it out clear as crystal, unless he’s the one putting the cards on the table. 

Link just shrugs like he could take it or leave it, and moves to flip the laptop on his lap back open like he’s just as happy to return to work and leave this whole conversation behind them, like they’d been talking about something as casual as where to order lunch from. 

“Well, the offer stands. If you wanna learn how I get Chris off damn near hands-free, go bidet-it-up and come find me.”

——

There’s no misinterpreting that. Right? Link had made it really freaking clear that he was talking about eating Rhett out to show him how he ought to be eating Jess out. Show him exactly what he was doing wrong and rub in how much better he was at it. 

Right?

Rhett’s initial response to Link’s bold and brazen offer had been just to leave the office and get some air because, frankly, if he hadn’t he wasn’t sure what he’d have done. There wasn’t enough blood in his body to fuel all of him, and what won out sure as hell wasn’t the northern parts of him. 

He found himself in the bathroom because he needed to splash his face. He couldn’t walk around the office as red-faced as he was, but once he shut the door behind himself in the only office bathroom with a bidet (read: their personal bathroom across from their office), he found himself seriously considering it. If only to push back, to prove that Link was bluffing. That he wouldn’t really put Rhett’s ass where his mouth was. 

He stood at the sink for longer than he cared to admit, gripping the edges and staring sidelong at the bidet attachment screwed down under the toilet seat, hooked back to the plumbing neatly under the tank. 

There’s no way in hell Link actually meant it. He was just being a dick, just pushing cause he knew how. If Rhett walked in there right now and acted like he wanted to take him up on the offer, Link would cave just like that. Then, Rhett would win. He’d show Link, rub all that annoying cockiness right in his face and end the argument once and for all. He’d show Link for questioning his ability to take care of Jessie. 

That was the plan. He didn’t technically need to _‘bidet it up’_ to go call Link on his bluff, but… what could it hurt? He was here already. He might as well. It’s not like Link would know he’d used it, he’s _that sure _Link will bail the second Rhett tries to make good on the offer. 

So, he does. And maybe he takes his time a little more than he might usually, tipping the controls a little more on the warm side before drying himself off with the kind of care he’s only ever taken when he’s getting ready for business time with Jess.

When Rhett comes back into their office, he’s a picture of confrontation. He looks just as smug as Link had when he’d left him not too long ago. He’s letting the anger of being called out as inferior fuel him, letting it twist into a weapon inside him as he forces himself to exude cool, calm, collected. He slips big hands into sweatpant pockets and leans back against the closed door. 

They both know he’s not fooling anybody, but he can damn well try though. 

“You ready to show me _‘how it’s done’_?” Rhett leans so heavy into mocking Link he damn near cringes at how petty he sounds. 

“You washed up?” Link flaps his computer closed, casual, like he cares about this about as he does fetching them a couple of LaCroix’s from the kitchen before a meeting. 

Rhett just gives a single nod because any more than that feels too damning. 

“Go bend over your desk.” Link tosses the laptop aside on the sofa and pushes up to his feet, watching as Rhett doesn’t move.

Link is serious. He’s serious. Link was offering to eat his ass, just like that, just right here in their office on a fucking Tuesday afternoon. Rhett gapes at him like he hadn’t spoken english, like he had two heads, like he was suggesting they make out on camera. 

Link’s brows furrow and he looks between Rhett and their desks. “Listen, you sure as hell ain’t bending over mine unless you’re willing to clean up your mess after.”

Of the two, Link’s desk was always cleared off and tidier. 

_Clean up your mess after. _Those words are rattling around in Rhett’s brain, lost and lonely and echoing in the space between his ears ‘cause his brain has fully left the building. 

Clean your mess up sounds like he’s talking about cum. Sounds like Link’s so damn sure he’s going to get Rhett off with his damn mouth that he’s counting Rhett coming on the floor under his desk as a sure thing. 

“Um, yeah. Yeah, sure.” Rhett feels himself going red and splotchy up his neck, feels color burning in his ears as he moves across the office they shared and comes to stand directly in front of Link’s desk, immediately second-guessing himself and looking down at the couple of things sitting on the surface and wondering at the height of it. He can’t help but think about exactly the message he’d sent by agreeing, by coming to stand at Link’s desk with a _yeah, sure_.

Before he’s got time to fret too much, Link’s right there behind him, reaching around him to move his pencil cup out of the way and gives his laptop cable a toss to the nearest armchair. 

“I said bend down, I gotta make sure the height’s right,” Link says, pressing the up arrow on the sitting/standing desk to bring it to a height that will accomodate Rhett well and give Link the access he needs. 

Rhett folds himself in half over the desk, obedient but tense, nervous, afraid that Link is playing a joke on him, that he’s going to wait until he’s in this compromising, damning position before leaping away from him with a laughed _sike_ and never let him live it down. 

But that never happens. 

What does happen is they find a table height that lets Rhett bend down over it, lets him stand with his ass up higher than his head and shoulders, and then he hears the casters of Link’s desk chair rolling over the floor as Link settles down, seated behind him. 

This… is not a situation Rhett had ever thought he’d find himself in. He’s acutely aware of the window above his head, bright afternoon sun warm on his back as he tries and fails and tries and fails to relax. He’s wearing his shoulders like earmuffs and his whole body is tensed up tight like he’s getting ready for fight or flight or freeze and picking all three. 

That’s when this shifts, unpredictably, but enough to crack through the wall Rhett’s hiding behind. 

Link’s hands were shaking when they touch on Rhett’s hips, fingertips tracing the waistband of his sweats before stopping himself again. Real soft and with warm breath curling over the stripe of exposed skin of his lower back, Link asks him, “You sure you’re okay with this?”

Fuck, is Rhett supposed to answer him? He nods his shaggy head, hoping that’s enough of an answer for Link, but of course it’s not. 

“Tell me you want this.” This time when Link’s talking, Rhett can feel him crowding closer, can feel the warmth of hands finding the backs of his thighs. 

“I-I want you to s-show me…” Rhett can’t believe he’s fucking stuttering, but he can’t get it together. Fuck, he’s half-hard already and Link hasn’t done a damn thing to him yet. 

“What do you want me to show you?” Link practically coos the words against Rhett’s ass, and Rhett shivers at the warmth of Link’s nose and face nuzzling against him through the soft fabric of his sweats. 

“...I want you to show me how it’s d-done,” Rhett can’t stop tripping over his words. He’s so fixated on trying to imagine how that goddamn mouth would feel on his skin he can’t think of anything else. So he’s startled when he feels Link easily and intentionally pull his sweats and boxer briefs down his thighs in one easy, fluid motion and leave them bunched up around his thighs. 

Rhett barely has time to gasp before Link’s hands move back up his thighs, move to cup his little asscheeks. Kneads them slow and gentle, prizing them apart. Rhett’s on fucking _edge_, feels this need tingling electric under his skin and if Link doesn’t do something more than tease him soon, Rhett’s appalled to think what he might resort to doing.

Rhett realizes suddenly that he doesn’t know what to expect as he feels the cool air of their office against his exposed asshole, mingling with the warmth of Link’s breath. Dear God, just the idea of where his face is, how close his mouth is to him is practically enough for him to want to climb out of his skin. 

He’s seconds from this overwhelming wall of shame making him pump the brakes, call Link off like this was some game of gay chicken he suddenly wasn’t willing to push any further, when he hears Link’s mouth work up a gob of spit behind him. When he feels it hot and shocking over his hole, dripping down between his cheeks. 

It makes it nearly to his balls before Link brooks it with a thumb placed purposefully just _there, _perfectly against his perineum and slowly teasing that saliva back upwards. Rhett groans in spite of himself. 

Point one for Neal. He’s grinning to himself as he works up another gob of saliva. The sounds he’s making are vile and should certainly be illegal, and Rhett damn well wants to tell him so, except that he doesn’t get a chance to before Link delivers a long, wet, sweeping lick starting from right where his thumb was still pressed behind Rhett’s balls all the way up past his hole. 

Rhett’s brain shorts out then, and the noise he makes is hardly a noise at all but just a desperate attempt to get air into his lungs. 

Rhett has no idea what on earth Link had just done to him that it felt that good. It just doesn’t compute, doesn’t add up, but dear _god_ he wants him to do it again because he wants to figure it out. Wants piece together what’s happening to him, what Link is doing to him. 

It happens again, that slow, deliberate lick from stem to stern. This time he’s aware of the heat, of the barest slip of friction and the subtle texture of his tongue, and the shapes it takes; wide and flat at first and then delicate, pointed, flickering and someone in the room sounds like he’s about to sob. God, it’s _him_. Link’s only just gotten his mouth on him and Rhett is dangerously close to crying. Rhett’s not going to survive this. 

A desperate, barely formed thought is trying to surface, that he needs to escape. Needs an excuse. Can’t let Link witness his guard coming down the way it’s threatening to. God, why hadn’t he thought this far ahead? But thoughts of escape are short lived, and even though Rhett’s still warring with the tension coiled tight in his body, Link is actively working to ease it. Those strong hands slip down, begin to smooth down the backs of his thighs in a slow, encouraging massage while he buries his face between Rhett’s cheeks with this greedy little back and forth motion. The combination of his roaming hands and tongue working him over have him flushed and hot and deeply regretting leaving his shirt on. 

Link’s alternating between broad sweeps and pinpoint attacks, hands back up and easing his cheeks apart again and he can tell the tides have turned. Rhett’s body is relaxing beneath his touch and attention, and he’s getting greedy for this, not so subtly pressing back against Link’s face for more. Now, there’s a different kind of tension building in Rhett, Link can tell, from the way he’s beginning to tremble. 

Fighting back a smug grin, Link comes up for air, one saliva wet thumb pressed benignly against Rhett’s asshole like a placeholder and he starts talking like he hasn’t just been marathon eating ass.

“See, you wanna keep it varied… go really slow and build up to more. But you can’t shy away from it, either,” Link says thoughtfully, barely rubbing with his thumb and watching the way Rhett’s muscles jump and twitch and try greedily to open to him. 

“...if you’re going down, you gotta go down like you_ mean it_. You’re not just using your tongue, you gotta use your whole mouth, you’ve gotta get in there… use your nose, your whole fucking face if they’re into it…”

“P-please,” Rhett’s voice is thin and muffled against his forearm, and _fuck_ but every time he almost took a hint of Link’s thumb in his ass, Link backed up away from him, wouldn’t let him get even a taste of what he wanted. Rhett’s long-since hard and leaking, a goddamn fucking mess, pressed up against the underside of Link’s desk and he’s not just going to make a mess on the floor but the bottom of the desk. There isn’t brainpower for that now, though. Now, there’s just need. 

“...if your tongue gets tired, it’s okay to come up for air for a minute, but you can’t just stop everything. Women don’t work like men do—” Link has the _audacity_ to explain the difference between men and women to him _right now?_ Like he doesn’t fucking _know?_ He’s going to kill him. “—if you just stop, she’s going to go back to zero and you’ve got to start the build up all over again, so when you take a break, you gotta keep your hands on her, keep rubbing her, teasing her… fingerfucking her.”

Rhett. Fucking. _Keens_.

God, if only Link would fingerfuck him now. That thumb is so close to inside him he can practically feel it. His thighs are trembling, _shameful_, but he doesn’t have it in him to care. 

“Fuck,” Rhett’s tongue works thick around the word and can’t think past it. It’s what he wants, what he needs, and Link should fucking _know it_. And oh, but he does. He just wants to watch Rhett struggle some more, squirm some more, before he gives him what he’s all but begging for. 

“Please… fuck, please,” Rhett’s words come in a stammered rush and it’s only now that he stops hiding his face in his folded arms, that he forgets his shame enough at being laid bare like this to start to let go. Fingers curl tight around the far side of the desk for leverage and something to hold onto, and he presses his hot cheek flat to the desktop, breath humid in his beard. 

“Please fuck me…” he asks for it in this small voice, soft and foreign and desperate and that… that’s not at all what Link was expecting, if the stuttered halt is anything to go by. 

Holy _shit_, that’s not what he’d expected at all, to end up with Rhett spread out beneath him and asking to be fucked. Link’s mouth goes dry and it takes monumental effort to recover, to will enough saliva into his mouth to finish the job he’d started. He’s not, no matter how much he wants to, not fucking Rhett today, not in their office with only spit for lube, after instigating this the way he had. God he _wants to_ but if they do it he wants it to be right, wants it to be better, as good for that experience as this is for what he’d set out for it to be. It’s too important to take advantage. Rhett’s too important. 

But Link can compromise. As his mouth comes back to where it was wanted, lips and tongue hot and broad and _everywhere_, he brings an index finger to slip up in the spit slick mess between Rhett’s cheeks and slowly lets it sink in where Rhett so desperately needs attention. His tongue is still caressing and worrying the puckered rim that’s tensing and relaxing against his finger, going back and forth between pointed flicks that almost seem to try and slip in alongside that single digit and broader strokes that sweep around every part of him he could reach. 

Rhett’s making some sound like he’s trying to say something, breathy and shaky like maybe he’s working up to a _holy shit_ but can’t manage to form the words behind it. His grip on the desk is vise tight, knuckles white. What on earth had led them to this point? Rhett sure as hell can’t remember a lick of it now, not a single second of the needling argument that had brought him here, bent over Link’s desk and begging to be fucked but taking what he can get. 

It’s not enough, not quite enough, and Link’s still playing keep-away. Every time he leans back to try to _take_, Link follows, never quite _gives_. Rhett positively aching with how empty he feels, knows what he wants, where he wants it without ever having experienced what he’s after before, and being so close has him a special kind of desperate. He’s so close to reaching back and holding Link by the wrist and just _taking it_, but he’s afraid of losing this tenuous thing he’s chasing, this thing Link is giving him so good he could die. 

This sound rips through Rhett without warning, bigger than his body on the exhale, like a deep breath in and a roar let out because Link won’t give him the release his body needs so he has to take it somehow. He’s never, never in his life been this turned on before, this close, this out of control with need to cum. It doesn’t stop, it carries on, another inhale and another wild sound torn from his body and Link can’t fucking believe what he’s reduced Rhett to with just his mouth, with barely one finger, with the broken promise of fucking him. 

So Link doubles down and delivers, mouth hot and unyielding as he lets that finger sink home and find the place Rhett needed touch and pressure and fullness and maybe it’s not what he wanted but for now it’s enough and the full body tremor that takes him shakes the table he’s clinging to, threatens to destroy the motherboard or motor of the desk. 

Link can feel the moment it tips, feels the change in Rhett’s body, the tension rise to a crescendo, feels how his muscles tighten and clamp down. Fuck, this close, he can smell him coming. Knows he’s made a mess of the desk, of the floor. 

And he’d promised. 

When finally, _finally_ Rhett’s recovered enough Link thinks he can make sense of words, Link presses a soft little kiss to the top of his ass and murmurs, “You promised you’d clean up your mess.”

One hand strays down between his own legs, to his neglected erection straining the front of his definitely gray joggers, an idea fully formed in his mind of what else he’d like Rhett to attend to while he’s under the desk handling his mess.

**Author's Note:**

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